


Prohibition

by orphan_account



Category: due South
Genre: F/M, Gen, Original Character(s)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-15
Updated: 2016-02-01
Packaged: 2018-05-14 03:51:01
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 6,619
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5728582
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ray V. and Ben attempt to solve a cold case.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Seven O'clock, Friday Morning ….   
Lt. Welsh sighed as he looked at the number of cold cases sitting on the shelves of Cook County's storage house. There were too many for his taste. Each case was a victim and each victim had a family who had wondered about them, cared about them. It was one of the sad realities the aging lieutenant had learned to deal with in his career.   
Each year the cases were reviewed to see if anything new had surfaced. The job never really ended, not on an unsolved murder case. This year the Cold Case crew were short handed. As a favor to their commanding officer, Welsh had agreed to lend them a detective, and a certain Civilian Aide, just to get her out of his office for a while. Now Welsh just had to tell Ray Vecchio and Francesca their new assignment. Since he wasn't Constable Fraser's superior officer, he couldn't assign the Mountie, but he knew the unlikely pair well enough to know Fraser would pitch in and help Ray without being asked. The lieutenant watched out his office window for the Italian descendant's return.   
“Benny, I'm telling you, that waitress wanted you, and bad.” Ray's vibrant voice carried across the bull pen as they came back from lunch.  
“I disagree, Ray, she was simply showing her gratitude for catching the purse snatcher.” Fraser argued his point.   
“Fraser, she grabbed your ….”   
“Hello, Francesca.” Fraser spoke loudly, cutting the detective off.   
“Hey, Frase, how was breakfast?” Francesca Vecchio, Ray's younger sister flashed him a winning smile as she raked him with her dark eyes. She never got tired of the sight of the misplaced Canadian. Fraser swallowed hard and tried not to let a rising blush match his red serge uniform.   
“Breakfast was excellent, Francesca, thank you kindly.” The Mountie replied, looking around the bull pen for anything that would distract the comely Italian.   
“Detective Vecchio, Francesca, can I see you in my office, please?” Lt. Welsh called from his office door. The Vecchio siblings looked at each other, confused and a bit fearful. They prayed something hadn't happened to their mother. In unison, the pair began walking toward the office.   
“Oh, Constable Fraser, you're welcome to come in as well, you may be interested in this.” Welsh said, turning back.   
“What's up, Lieutenant?” Frannie asked, arms crossed over her chest and one hip cocked out.   
“I owe Lt. Daniels a favor, a favor which he called in this morning. He's short handed in Cold Case Division and needs a detective to help review cases for the next two weeks.” Welsh broke it to them as gently as possible while still sounding authoritative.   
“Come on, Lieutenant, I've got a dozen open, active cases I'm working, send Huey or one of the others.” Ray whined.   
“What am I even here for, I'm not a detective.” Frannie complained, confused.   
“You, I can spare, a second detective, I cannot. The way I figure it, files are your specialty, this should be right up your alley, Miss Vecchio.” Welsh explained.   
“Why me, Lieutenant Welsh?” Fraser asked quietly.  
“Ah, you I figured, why not?” The older officer shrugged, smiling satisfied he'd gotten the Vecchios and the Canadian out of his hair for at least two weeks.   
“What about my ongoing cases, Sir?” Ray asked, resigned to his new assignment.   
“Huey and myself will be covering your cases, Detective Vecchio.” Welsh assured him, one beefy hand waving his fears away. “You all report to Cold Case Division Monday morning, the beginning of your shifts. Good luck.” Welsh sat back in his chair, his fingers laced over his middle age paunch.   
“Yes, Sir.” Ray pouted. Frannie glared at her brother for a moment. Fraser didn't register any perturbation.   
October 14, 1925 ….  
Benjamin Fulton walked along the railings of the seventy foot schooner, a blustery cold wind chapping his cheeks. His keen, blue eyes looked out across the churning lake. White caps dotted the waters of the mighty Lake Michigan. She could make a man rich or tear him down; take his life if she had a notion. The lake was a powerful, hateful force. Old sailors had spine chilling tales of the lakes; mystery ships, mystery lights, mystery creatures, and even stories handed down by the native tribes centuries before. Benjamin had listened to these stories his whole life. In his thirty-odd years he hadn't seen any so far.   
“Ben, hello, come on below, have some coffee.” Chet, a younger man with high red coloring shouted to be heard over the howling wind. Ben waved to him, scooting his feet to maintain his balance on the rolling, icy deck. Down below in the galley of the schooner, Bonny Kathleen, a crew of about a dozen men sat around a long, rough table eating beans and corn bread with strong, black coffee.  
“Here we go boys, good, Canadian whiskey, just what the doctor ordered to warm a man's bones.” Captain Kevin King said as he added a dram to each man's cup.   
“What about you, Fulton, you want some?” The burly captain asked, holding up a hip flask of the potent, and in the United States, illegal liquid.   
“No, thank you.”   
King eyed the somber, younger man suspiciously. He didn't completely trust him, or any other man who didn't like at least a bit of alcohol now and again.   
“Suit yourself, Fulton, more for the rest of us.” Captain King shrugged, taking a long draught from his silver hip flask. The other sailors around him toasted to their extra cargo and the warm alcohol that made the dangerous, winter trip from Toronto to Chicago and the extra money worth it. Nearly a ton of alcohol rested in the hold of the cargo vessel. King took it to just outside the US border where a dozen, small fishing boats waited for a midnight rendezvous. He'd been paid a hundred thousand dollars up front to haul the load from suppliers in Canada to distributors in the States.   
The crew began singing shanties and dirty, little drinking songs. Fulton sat in the galley, nursing his plain coffee and watching the rest of the crew getting blind drunk. He'd been on watch for the last six months, collecting information on suppliers, drop times and distributors for the Revenue Service. When off duty Fulton reported to a grocery store where he met Rocco Leoni, his handler, to report his findings.  
“Take first watch, Fulton, let me know if there's anything in the air.” Captain King assigned his quiet deck hand.   
“Yes, Captain.” Ben put his coffee cup in the sink and walked out, into chilly but fresh air. He'd grown accustomed to the sour, smoky interior of the galley and passages. Fulton much preferred the fresh air topside. He made his way up through the ship and into the pilot house.   
“The hands getting blasted again?” Charlie, an older man, weather beaten and tough as a pine knot, asked without looking away from his charts.  
“Oh yes, most definitely besotted.” Fulton shoved his hands into his heavy mackinaw jacket after pulling his red, wool toboggan down more snugly.   
“It's a good thing we don't have a November witch coming down out of Canada, these sots couldn't put out a lifeboat, much less save the ship.” Charlie groused.   
“I agree.” Fulton shrugged. “Captain King sent me for first watch.” Benjamin studied their bearings then he studied the course King had set out for them through the thickening chunks of floating ice. He may have been a rum runner, but he knew his way around the Bonny Kathleen and these waters.   
“I'll be back to keep you company a while.” Charlie got up to leave, Fulton taking his place.  
Cold Case Division ….   
Ray, Frannie and Fraser walked into the miniscule space set aside for Chicago Police Department's Cold Case Division. There were a few desks in the office.   
“Have you met Lieutenant Daniels before, Ray?” Fraser asked, taking his Stetson off and adjusting his lanyard.  
“No, but he and Welsh went to the Academy together, he's one of the few people Welsh has anything good to say about.” Ray made sure his suit jacket was buttoned and his lapels were straight before opening the office door. A tall, balding gentleman with wire framed glasses greeted them.  
“I'm Lieutenant Rex Daniels.” He shook hands with the unlikely trio.  
“Good morning, Lieutenant Daniels, I'm Detective Raymond Vecchio, this is Francesca Vecchio, Civilian Aide and this is Constable Benton Fraser, RCMP. Him you get as part of the bargain.” Ray hitched his thumb toward the Canadian standing at parade rest beside him.   
“A Mountie, that's a first in my division.” Daniels lifted his brows as he took Fraser in.   
“Yes, I'm currently on assignment, attached to the Canadian Consulate here in Chicago as acting deputy liaison officer.” Fraser clarified.   
“Like I said, Lieutenant, him you get as part of the bargain.” Ray added.   
“Well, let's get down to business, shall we?” Daniels leaned his desk chair back and picked up the phone. “I'll get one of my detectives to show you the ropes.” He dialed an extension and waited for a moment.  
“Detective would you come to my office please?” Daniels hung up the phone a moment later.   
“Detective Lani Rowland knows anything there is to know about the files house where you'll spend your first day with us.” Daniels referred to the fair skinned red head walking toward them. She wore a pair of dark slacks, a cerulean blue button up blouse and a dark blazer. Her hair was pulled up into a loose bun at the back of her head. Ray nearly drooled when he first laid eyes on her. She was a vision with her willowy, dancer's figure and alabaster skin.   
“Don't get any ideas, Detective, she won't hesitate to put you in your place.” Daniels warned.   
“Hey, Lieutenant, these the pinch hitters?” Lani asked, eying the handsome Canadian, the smiling Italian and the sour faced Civilian Aide. She shook hands all around as Daniels introduced the three new comers.   
“Show them to the files house, okay Detective Rowland?” Lieutenant Daniels asked, taking his glasses off to clean them with a Kleenex.  
“Sure, boss, no problem.” She answered with a pleasant smile. “I'll drive.” The detective pulled her keys out of her pocket.   
“I drove over here.” Ray pulled his Riv keys out with a flourish.   
“I'm still driving.” Rowland insisted.   
“Ray, perhaps you should follow Detective Rowland to the files house.” Fraser suggested.  
“There you go, Red, sounds like a plan.” Rowland agreed, sauntering on through the glass double doors and onto the street.  
TYKTYKTYK  
“Cold Case 101, there is no statue of limitations on murder. All the cold cases are stored here, in the file house.” Rowland signed in with the sergeant at the front desk and led her three students into the cavernous space. It was stacked from floor to ceiling with cardboard file boxes on metal shelves. Each box was labeled with the victim's name, an identification number and a date.   
“Lt. Daniels had me pull you a couple boxes ahead of time, to save time for everyone. Here they are.” Rowland led them to a six foot folding table in the rear of the building. Three boxes sat waiting for them.   
“Any questions?” Det. Rowland asked as she laid a hand on the dusty boxes.   
“Is is always this cold in here?” Frannie asked, shivering.   
“Yep, pretty much, it's good for the files, keeps the acidic ink from eating through the paper so quickly.” Lani answered.   
“Ray, give me your jacket.” Frannie ordered, wagging a single manicured finger at him.  
“No way, Frannie, you should have worn more clothes.” Ray shot back quickly.  
“Ray, give me your jacket, it's really cold in here.” Frannie persisted, this time more venomously.   
“No, Francesca, ask Fraser.” Ray shook his head.  
“Your jacket is easier to get off, Ray, let me have it.” The Civilian Aide put both hands on her hips and glared at her older brother.  
“Ray, it is chilly in here, especially for the light clothing Francesca is wearing, perhaps you should lend her your jacket, to prevent her from getting sick.” Fraser suggested.   
“Okay, okay, here you go, Frannie, but tomorrow wear something warmer.” Ray slid out of his jacket and handed it to her.   
“Thank you, Fraser,” Frannie turned to the Mountie and smiled. “Thanks, Ray.” She glared at him.   
“Okay, if there's nothing else, have fun.” Rowland gave them a thumbs up then turned to leave.   
“Hey, wait, you aren't sticking around?” Ray asked, hoping to spend some more time with the fair detective.  
“Nope, I've got a dozen other cases to work on my desk. Call Lt. Daniels if you need anything.” Rowland turned once more, this time quickening her pace.   
“Man, I've got to get her phone number.” Ray returned to the folding table.   
Frannie snorted loudly.   
“Get real.” She rolled her eyes at her brother.   
Fraser kept his opinion to himself and his expression neutral. He didn't foresee Ray getting Detective Rowland's telephone number before their two weeks at Cold Case Division were up. But then what did he know about women, he thought.  
TYKTYKTYK  
Author's Note: Although Cold Case is mentioned, this is not a crossover. But it would make for a good story, wouldn't it? Read and review with kindness as I try to do the same. Thank You Kindly~ ~


	2. Light at the end of the Tunnel

Cold Case Division, Files Storage ….  
Monday Morning ….  
Ray pulled the first file out and flipped it open. He squinted at the aged, yellowing paper and it's fading type. Frannie came to peer over her brother's shoulder, one hip cocked out.  
“Here, Benny, see if you can read this.” Ray handed the Mountie the first few pages.  
“Oh my, look at this.” Frannie laid a manicured nail on the first crime scene photo.  
“That's gruesome.” Ray agreed, looking at the black and white image of a man lying on the sand, his face turned away from the camera. Ray turned the page to a second crime scene photo, or CSP, this time of the man's hands, obviously raw from fresh defensive wounds.  
“Oh my God.” Frannie gasped, clasping a hand over her mouth.  
“Fraser, come here, look at this.” Ray waved a frantic hand to his friend. The Mountie laid the typed text on the folding table and rounded the Vecchio siblings. He frowned when he saw a very familiar face staring up at him.   
“I've always heard everyone has a twin, but this is just freaky.” Ray handed up the personnel file. Typed neatly beneath was the man's name: Fulton, Benjamin, Constable, RCMP.  
“A sailor misplaced on the northern plains,” Fraser's gaze lifted at the sound of his father's voice. The old Mountie stood watching the trio, hands clasped behind his back. Ben lifted his brows, prompting Robert Fraser to continue.  
“Says here he was a Mountie on loan to the U.S. Revenue Service. He died, a gunshot wound. A farmer found him at the mouth of Cherry Creek.” Ray looked up at Fraser, amazed at the resemblance. Fraser was looking at the CSP of Fulton's hands when he saw the Civilian Aide running out of the dusty file room.   
“What got into Frannie?” Ray asked, leaning back to stare down the stacks of file boxes.  
“I believe this is what got into Francesca.” Ben held up a CSP of Fulton, a single gunshot wound to the middle of his forehead, his light eyes eerie in the light. Ray swore.  
“Put that away, Fraser, that is too creepy.” The detective had seen hundreds of CSP, but Fulton's image made him cringe.  
“It's not my photograph, Ray.” Ben assured him matter-of-factly.  
“My head tells me that, but the resemblance between the two of you, my eyes tell me different.” Ray suppressed a shiver.   
“Did you put the photo away yet, Ray?” Frannie asked from the door.   
“Yeah, Frannie, I put it away.” The Detective flipped to the next photo, a group of officers in dark suits and hats standing around the body.  
“I bet all these guys retired before Welsh ever entered the Academy.” Ray began taking notes on the case, people to track down and interview.  
“Yes, perhaps the RCMP has additional information on Constable Fulton.” Ben suggested.   
“Yeah, good idea. Think Thatcher will sign off on you investigating this case?” Ray wondered as Frannie joined them.  
“Yes, I would think so, Constable Fulton may still have family that would like closure.” Fraser looked around the cavernous file room, wondering if his father were somewhere nearby.  
“Yeah, well, you deal with Thatcher and the Canadian side of things.” Ray didn't envy Fraser that odious duty.   
“I guess I get the lovely chore of digging through the rest of the boxes.” Frannie patted two other cardboard boxes on the side of the folding table.  
“Thanks, Frannie, you're the best.” Ray grinned as he got up from the folding table.   
“You two aren't stranding me here are you?” Frannie said as she watched the pair walk toward the exit.   
“Nah, Frannie, we'll be back in a couple hours.” Ray stood looking back at his sister.   
“You better, buster.” Frannie warned, her dark eyes narrowed.  
“I'll bring you lunch, okay, Frannie.” Ray gave her a winning smile.  
“Make sure he does, won't you, Fraser?” She asked, her voice whiny.  
“Yes, Francesca, I'll make certain that Ray brings you lunch.” Ben promised.  
“Thank you, Fraser.” The Civilian Aide nodded, a bright smile lighting her face.  
“Come on, Fraser, where to first, the consulate or the precinct?” Ray asked, jangling his Riv keys.  
“The consulate, if you wouldn't mind, I should inform the Inspector straight away.” Fraser adjusted his Stetson as he opened the door for Ray.  
TYKTYKTYK  
Ray laid Fulton's file on the desk in front of Thatcher with an evil smile. He wanted to see the lady Mountie's reaction to Fulton's crime scene photo.  
“What is this, Constable Fraser?” Thatcher asked dryly, peering up at them without her prescription glasses.  
“Friday, Detective Vecchio and Francesca were temporarily reassigned to the Chicago Police Department's Cold Case Division beginning this morning. I accompanied them out of curiosity ….” Thatcher put up her hand to silence her subordinate officer.  
“To the point, Fraser.” She prompted.  
“Constable Benjamin Fulton, RCMP, found October 1925, on loan to the U.S. Revenue Service.” Ray opened the file to the picture of Fulton, his eyes open. Inspector Thatcher glanced from Fraser to the photograph. She gasped and pushed it away quickly, moving her chair away from the desk.  
“Ray that wasn't very nice.” Benton admonished as Ray laughed.  
“My word! Constable Fraser, that isn't funny. I do not appreciate such a juvenile prank.” Thatcher began laying it off. Ray laughed harder.   
“Oh no, Sir, I assure you, this is a legitimate crime scene photo. That is indeed Constable Benjamin Fulton, born January 4, 1893.” Fraser gestured to the file with his left hand as Thatcher listened, still not entirely convinced.  
“He's right, Inspector Thatcher, we had no idea, the files were left out for us by Lieutenant Daniels' staff.” Ray shrugged, backing Fraser up.  
“And this is a cold case, an unsolved murder you say?” Thatcher turned to the police report, Fulton's RCMP personnel photo stapled to one corner.  
“Yes, Sir, I hope to lend assistance to the Chicago Police Department since Fulton was a fellow officer. He may have family, I would like to give them closure if possible.” Fraser said solemnly, waiting patiently as Thatcher examined the file a moment longer.   
“Yes, Constable Fraser, you may certainly assist. Fulton was a fellow officer after all. Let me know how I can be of assistance as well.” Thatcher affirmed.   
“We'll need access to Fulton's files, his case notes, personnel file, that sort of thing.” Ray rubbed his hands together as he spoke.  
“I'll put the request in this afternoon.” Thatcher offered.  
“Thank you kindly, Inspector Thatcher, if there's nothing else?” Fraser waited for his dismissal.  
“Good afternoon, Constable Fraser.” She nodded, pretending to return to her work as Ray gathered the case file.   
“Come on, Fraser, I have to stop by my desk then we have to take Frannie lunch. Do you remember what she likes on her sub?” Ray asked as he began to shuffle out of Thatcher's office. She wondered how Fraser knew Miss Vecchio's lunch order.  
TYKTYKTYK   
1925 ….  
“What are you going to do with your share of these ill gotten gains, Benjamin?” Charlie asked, loving the scent of fresh coffee in his cup when he returned.  
“Settle down I suppose, put it down on a ship of my own maybe.” Fulton gave his standard answer.  
“Ah, that's a fine idea. A good sailor like you shouldn't be mixed up in this nasty business. A young man like yourself should find a wife, have children.” Charlie grinned, a few of his teeth missing.  
“You're right, Charlie, that's exactly what I should do.” Benjamin smiled, thinking of his wife and little boy back home. The hardest part of his undercover job was being away from Megan and Bobby. He couldn't even carry a picture of them with him. As soon as King and those he supplied were brought to justice, Benjamin planned on going back to his family and spending the rest of his RCMP career out of harm's way, behind a desk. That thought was his light at the end of the tunnel.  
TYKTYKTYK


	3. Violet

Fulton's Granddaughter ….  
Tuesday ….  
“Constable Fraser, you have a call on line two.” Turnbull's voice interrupted Ben's train of thought as he studied Fulton's file from the Chicago Police Department.  
“Thank you, Constable Turnbull.” Fraser picked up the phone.  
“Constable Fraser speaking.” He waited patiently for a response.  
“This is Violet Fulton, Benjamin Fulton's granddaughter, I received a call from someone with the RCMP in Ottawa late yesterday, about my grandfather's murder.” She sounded puzzled.  
“Yes, Miss Fulton, your grandfather's case has come up for annual review, I was wondering if you or your family may have any of his effects; letters or diaries perhaps?” Ben didn't hold out much hope after seventy years.  
“I have my grandmother's steamer trunk, you're welcome to come check it out. She kept everything of my grandfather's.” Violet offered helpfully.   
“May I have your address, I'll be out at your earliest convenience.” Fraser held his ink pen poised over a notepad.  
“801 Alderson Street, drop by anytime, it's my day off, so I'll be home all day.” She sounded willing enough.  
“Thank you kindly, Miss Fulton.” Ben thanked her, his mind laying out the next course of action. She wished him good day before hanging up. Fraser immediately dialed Ray's cellular phone.   
“Ray Vecchio here.” The second generation Italian detective answered, traffic noise in the background.  
“Good morning, Ray, Ottawa has located Fulton's granddaughter, she lives here in Chicago, we've been invited to examine her grandfather's effects.” Fraser informed his unlikely partner.   
“I'll swing by and pick you up.” Ray hung up after shouting something insulting at another driver.   
TYKTYKTYK  
“This is 801 Alderson Street, nice place.” Ray nodded approvingly of the large, brick house along a working class neighborhood street.   
“Yes, quite comfortable, as well as sturdy.” Fraser agreed as he crawled out of the low slung Riviera. Together they walked up to the front door and knocked. A porch swing moved in the morning breeze. Lace curtains over the windows added feminine charm to the aging house. A gray, Ford Tempo sat in the drive way.  
“Hello, Miss Fulton.” Ray's eyes widened when he saw the young woman who answered the door. Glancing over at Fraser he saw the Mountie react the same way.  
“Constable Fraser,” She smiled at the red serge clad officer. There was a long pause before either man could speak.  
“I'm Detective Ray Vecchio, Ma'am.” He introduced himself.  
“Excuse me, but have we met before?” Fraser asked the tall, willowy brunette with soulful brown eyes. Violet smiled, surprised by Ben's question.  
“No, not that I remember, and believe me, I'd remember you.” She pointed at his red serge, but her eyes spoke otherwise, lingering over his features.  
“Hmm, odd, but I feel as if we've met.” Fraser pulled his Stetson off and twirled it on his index finger.  
“Maybe in a previous life.” Violet chuckled, ushering them into the living room.  
“Or not so previous.” Ray thought to himself. Violet's hair was shorter, lighter and straight but she could have passed for Victoria Metcalf's twin.  
“I haven't had time yet to dig the steamer trunk up yet, sorry about that. I probably couldn't anyway, it weighs a ton.” Violet led them through the house to a hall off the living room to the right. She tip toed to pull down a set of steps up to the attic. Fraser reached up, his hand covering hers and pulled it down easily. Violet looked up at him, a sultry smile on her lips. Ray watched the exchange suspiciously. He'd seen his friend with that bedeviled, hungry expression only once before. He didn't want to live through the sequel.   
“Gram's trunk is up here.” Violet began, her ascent up the acclivity, Fraser holding a cautious hand out should she falter.   
“Come on, Ray, this should be like opening a time capsule.” Ben grinned before taking off after her.  
“Sheesh, I wish he'd switch to blonds, less to figure out.” The detective thought silently.   
The attic was fairly clean and cob web free. A large, dark steamer trunk sat along the far wall of the moderate space. Violet scooted three milk crates out of the shadows with the toe of her dark, slouch, suede dress boot.  
“I dug up Gram's key this morning.” The young woman pulled an old fashioned key on a chain out of the collar of her sweater. She settled onto one of the milk crates and began fiddling with the lock. After a few minutes Fraser knelt down beside her.  
“Please, allow me, Miss Fulton.” He took the key and in one, swift turn, made the lock click. Violet opened the lid of the ancient luggage revealing the contents of Benjamin Fulton's short life.   
“How did your grandmother end up in Chicago, Miss Fulton?” Ray asked, curious.  
“Grams was determined to find those responsible for my grandfather's death, since he was found just outside the city she settled here. Grams never gave up.” Violet smiled; she obviously, dearly loved the spirited, old lady. She reached into the trunk and pulled out a large, black photo album. Opening the cracked, leather cover, the first photo was a wedding photo. A bride in white stood beside an officer in gray, but what Fraser knew to be the very shade of scarlet he wore everyday. Beside the groom stood three other officers, all grim faced. To the bride's left stood her bride's maids in various shades of light gray. They wore their hair in ornate buns and high collar middy blouses.  
“Wow, my grandfather was handsome.” Violet commented, staring at the thick, cardboard backed photo. She looked up at Fraser, a soft expression in her eyes.   
“Why do they always look like they're at a funeral, didn't people smile before the fifties?” Ray broke in.   
“I think Gram tried to keep my grandfather's memory alive in this trunk.” Violet pulled out another album, this one full of newspaper clippings, files and reports.   
“Did your grandfather send letters home? Perhaps they would shed some light on his acquaintances.” Fraser suggested.   
“No, not that I know of.” Violet shrugged, biting her lower lip.   
“Can we take the trunk with us, look at everything for a couple of days?” Ray asked, flipping through the wedding album.   
“Yes, go ahead, anything to help solve the case.” Violet stood up, as did our gentleman Fraser.   
“I have a few errands to run today.” the young woman stepped aside as Fraser and Ray each grabbed a leather handle on the sides of the trunk.   
“Sheesh, this thing weighs a slick ton.” Ray grumbled as he struggled to keep his end from dragging on the floor. They managed to carry it to the attic steps where Fraser went down so Ray and Violet could lower it down to him. With grunting and grumbling, the eased the trunk to the waiting Mountie.   
“I should get hazard pay for that.” Ray commented as he and Fraser carried it to the backseat of the Riv.   
“It's all part of the job, Ray, you should feel honored to be able to help others.” Fraser chided his friend.   
“Yeah, yeah, I do, but honor don't pay the co-pay for my chiropractor.” Ray grumbled back, closing the back door carefully.   
Violet Fulton stood on the porch, watching the officers as they slid into the venerable auto. Ray couldn't help but roll his eyes when she smiled and did a finger wave. Fraser gave back something between a wave and a salute.   
“She's trouble, Benny.” Ray warned as they navigated the light, neighborhood traffic.   
“How so, Ray?” Fraser asked, checking for oncoming traffic at a four-way stop.   
“She's like one of them sirens, tryin' to get you tangled up somehow. If you aren't careful you'll be belly up like our guy, Benjamin Fulton.” Ray wagged a warning finger at the Mountie as he talked and drove.  
“Ray, that's rubbish, Violet Fulton is simply trying to help us solve her grandfather's murder, nothing more.” Fraser scoffed, taking his usual battle stations stance as they hit heavier traffic.   
“Yep, if you say so, Benny.” Ray agreed sarcastically, finger waving under the Mountie's nose.   
***

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please, comment. I'm wondering whether or not to finish this one. The more comments, the more I write. =) TYK


	4. Four

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Slowly but surely wins the race

Back to the Twenty-seventh Precinct ….  
Tuesday ….  
Ray and Fraser had picked up Frannie and Dief, who shared the back seat. Dief found it insulting to have to share with her and Frannie pouted about having to share with a dog. Dief sniffed in annoyance at being called simply a 'dog'.   
“The other boxes didn't have much to go on, the Cold Case guys had chased every opening,”   
“You mean 'lead', Frannie.” Ray corrected, shaking his head.   
The Civilian Aide stuck her tongue out at her brother before continuing. “Anyway, I think the big case is the Fulton Case.”   
“So next we wade through Grandma Fulton's treasure trunk for clues.” Ray plotted, hitting the gas to scoot through a yellow light on the heels of a cement truck.   
“Yes, exactly.” Fraser nodded ignoring Ray as he tailgated the cement truck. Sometimes he wondered how Ray managed to keep the Riv in such good condition with his heedless style of driving.   
***   
1925 ….   
The Bonny Kathleen docked behind schedule, nearer morning than Captain King had planned. His had crew hustled to offload their illegal cargo to a small ship on the lake before the port inspectors came to check over the regular load at the dock. The men growled and groaned about being roused from their hammocks after tying on a drunk. Still, they did it, for the money.   
After a day's work unloading both cargoes, the hands were given leave to spend their share of the whiskey money. They didn't usually make it farther afield than the local, underground speakeasy or brothel. Charlie and Chet walked along with Ben for a while, rubbing their gloved hands and pulling at their wool toboggans.   
“What are you going to do with your paycheck this time, Chet?” Charlie asked, sticking a plug of Prince Albert chewing tobacco in his jaw.   
“I've been savin' up to buy my sweetheart a ring, this should be just enough. Maybe in a year or two we'll have enough saved up to buy a house.” Chet grinned like a little boy. He wasn't much over eighteen, still lanky and high spirited.   
“What about you, Charlie, do you have a sweetheart somewhere?” Chet teased the older man.   
“Ha! Ain't no woman worth her salt'd have an ole barnacle like me.” Charlie scoffed, tugging on his untrimmed, gray beard. All three men laughed.   
“Ben here's aimin' to buy a boat of his own.” Charlie volunteered, clapping the undercover Mountie on the back.  
“What are you going to name it?” Chet asked, shoving his hands into his Mackinaw coat's deep pockets.  
“Perhaps The Sweet Meg, I haven't decided yet.” Ben shrugged, wishing he were home with his own sweet Meg and Bobby.   
“That's a fine name for a ship.” Charlie sighed, turning inward to his own thoughts.   
“One day I won't be a grunt on a ship, I'll own my own store maybe.” Chet looked around him at the dingy storefronts along the street.   
“I'll see you all in a few days.” Ben split off from the other two men. He checked the storefront windows for himself, wondering if anyone followed him. The end of the case felt so close, Ben couldn't afford to make a mistake now. He made his way to the cheap rooming house where he'd taken a room shortly before Captain King hired him. It served many of the sailors on the Great Lakes. No one noticed who came and went or how long they stayed gone; until the rent ran out.   
***   
The Twenty-seventh Precinct ….  
Fraser and one of the uniformed officers carried the steamer trunk into the bull pen while Ray held the door for them, and Frannie. Dief shot off towards Lt. Welsh's office, sure he'd be slipped a piece of salami, if Fraser didn't see him.   
“Thank you kindly, Officer Hansen.” Fraser said after they deposited the trunk in an empty interview room.   
“Okay, here we go,” Ray opened the lid to the musty smelling trunk. A tray held the photo albums they'd looked at earlier. The Detective set it aside to delve farther inside. Fraser handed Frannie the albums as he studied the contents of the tray.  
“Hmm, I can still detect the scent of cedar.” The Mountie put the empty tray against his nose.   
“If you say so, Fraser.” Frannie wrinkled her nose. She'd begun flipping through the wedding album, admiring the historic dresses and backgrounds.   
“Here's a stack of newer stuff,” Ray held up a handful of manila file folders and an envelope. “Ah, probably just copies of stuff that's already in the case files, junk.” he dismissed it. In disgust, he brushed dust motes off his newest Armani suit jacket.   
Ever diligent, Fraser began scanning the files. He frowned as he read.   
“It appears Ms. Fulton did quite a bit of investigation before her death. She has notes here from interviews she conducted of sailors' families; the captain, the first mate, and so on.”   
“What good does that do us?” Ray groused, setting out more old photos, cards, awards, an embroidered hankie, and an ancient RCMP uniform, boots and all.   
“Ms. Fulton kept in contact with the investigating detective even after his retirement, as well as his partner.” Fraser ignored his unofficial partner's cynicism.   
“No wonder this trunk weighted a ton, these boots are heavier than they look.” Ray held up a pair of worn high browns, now faded.   
“May I see those, Ray?” Fraser set down a cigar box full of postcards he'd been reading.  
“Sure, knock yourself out, Benny.” Ray handed him the leather boots.   
Frannie and Ray watched as held one in each hand, as if weighing them. He then took a chair and began unlacing his own high browns.   
“Fraser, what're you doin'?” Ray asked, running his hand over his tress challenged scalp.  
“The Inuit say that to truly know someone you must walk a mile in his muck-lucks.” The Mountie quoted.   
“If you get some kind of fungus, don't come whining to me.” Ray shivered at the thought.   
“I'll remember that, Ray.” Fraser deadpanned. He had the old boots unlaced and had proceeded to stick his foot down in one when he pulled it back off. Turning it upside down, he dropped a leather bound journal onto the tile floor.   
“Jackpot!” Ray and Frannie shouted in unison. They turned and looked at each other in surprise before looking away.   
“Yes, just what we were looking for.” Fraser sat down at the table to read. Ray and Frannie came crowding around to look over his shoulder.   
“The guy even writes like you, Benny.” Ray commented.   
“He would have learned the same kind of script my grandmother taught me as a boy.” Fraser informed them as he began scanning the cursive writing, now faded. The first entry had been dated several weeks before Fulton's death, just before the RCMP had handed him the assignment.   
The weather is fair and warm today for this time of year. Last night Meaghan and I played with Bobby in the backyard. He's such a bright child, so much like his mother. He took my Stetson and a stick for a horse, shouting for his mother to watch as he galloped around the muddy yard. Bobby is the light of her world and they are the light of mine.   
I found it difficult to broach the subject of the assignment Inspector Howard offered me this morning. I didn't know how to tell Meaghan that I'd been chosen to infiltrate the whiskey smuggling ring on the Great Lakes. It would guarantee a promotion and hopefully a higher pay grade. If Bobby is to have a little brother or sister in the future I need the money. I'd dearly love to have a large family, plenty of children and grandchildren to bounce on my knee, all of them as sweet and beautiful as my sweet Meg. The fear in her dark brown eyes when I spoke of the assignment hurt my heart and soul. After a moment she smiled and said that she supported me no matter what and that she might burst with pride for me. I never want to leave her arms. I rise each morning to don the scarlet tunic she admires so and attempt to serve both my wife, my family and my country to the best of my ability. 

Ben read the first entry aloud, his voice smooth and hypnotic. He envied Fulton his domestic bliss. The passage reminded him of another brown eyed Meg. Would she want a son or a daughter?   
“Aww, gee, that's so sweet I think I'm getting diabetes.” Ray mocked.   
“Ray!” Francesca slapped him hard on the arm and glared.   
“I think he sounds like a loving husband, don't you, Fraser?” Her voice turned from annoying bark to sugary sweet.   
“Yes, a devoted family man. All the more reason we should find those responsible for his death.” Ben agreed, his voice and expression neutral.   
“Francesca, will you kindly photocopy the journal, I don't want to do any more damage to the already brittle pages.” Ben asked, handing the book over to the Civilian Aide.   
“Yeah, sure, whatever you need, Benton.” Frannie made a show of standing up just for the Mountie.  
“Frannie, would you get me a bag of peanuts from the vending machine?” Ray asked, since she was already on her feet.  
“Get off your butt and get them yourself, Ray, I'm not your waitress.” Frannie snarled, leaning over Fraser to argue with her brother. She stalked off, her best hip sway going for Ben's benefit.   
“Whatever you need, Benton.” Ray mocked in a nasal voice as he stood up, fishing quarters from his slacks pocket.  
“I'm sorry, Ray,” the Mountie looked up at his friend with an earnest, innocent expression in his big blue eyes.   
“Yeah, yeah, okay.” Ray sighed and shrugged, heading to the break room, “You get the girls and all I get is peanuts.” he muttered.   
***   
Author's Note- Yes, I realize I've put the wrong Ray (Ray V.) with Frannie as a Civilian Aide according to the cannon time line. It's too late to re-write now.


End file.
